


Write What You Know

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-15 23:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11816946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Bellamy understands every individual choice that got him to this point. He started writing erotica to make some extra money, he didn't correct the assumption that he was a woman, made up some facts about his new persona, and now his publisher wants him to start making public appearances, so he needs someone to be that persona. And Clarke really is the logical choice.It all makes sense to him, when he thinks about it, but he will admit it is incredibly weird. Luckily, Clarke's still got his back.





	Write What You Know

It takes Bellamy about a week to get up the nerve to ask Clarke about the photograph thing. Not because he thinks Clarke will say no, or even because of anything to do with Clarke herself, but because he feels weird about the whole plan from start to finish. He sees the logic of it, but it feels like an upgrade of his whole online persona deception in a way that discomforts him. He didn't feel like he was really lying before, just misleading. This is _a lot_.

But his options at this point are apparently lying, coming clean, or giving up on a lucrative side-job, so of those choices, lying it is.

"I need a weird favor," he tells her. No reason to beat around the bush.

"Sure."

"You want to hear what the favor is first."

Being Clarke, her reaction isn't wariness, but excitement. "Really?"

"I said it was weird, right?"

"Yeah, but weird enough you think I won't do it?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "Honestly? Maybe."

"Okay," she says. "Hit me. What's the weird favor?"

"I need you to pose for a profile picture for my side job as an erotica author."

She doesn't miss a beat. "And you thought I _wouldn't_ want to do that?"

He has to laugh. "I thought you'd have follow-up questions."

"Oh yeah, tons. But none of them are going to stop me from doing it." She laughs herself. "Seriously, Bellamy, what?"

"Where do you want me to start?"

She taps her jaw. "Actually, let me guess. Okay, you started writing erotica to make extra cash on the side. When you were worried about getting Octavia through college, probably. So, like--ten years ago?"

"About that, yeah."

"And you went with a pen name because you didn't want anyone to find out you were doing it. Initials and a last name?"

Clarke doesn't often remind him how well she knows him, but when she does it's always vaguely surreal. "Yeah."

"And people assumed you were a woman because that's a lot more common with romance writers, and I'm guessing you write pretty female-focused progressive smut. With, like, plots."

"It feels weird to say yes to that."

"But you do."

"I try to, anyway."

Her smile is warm, and it makes his stomach twist. He does his best to ignore it. "I'm sure you do. So, people assumed you were a woman, you didn't correct them, and now you need a woman to pose for social media stuff because that's some new initiative from your publisher?"

"Are you sure you didn't already know about this and just weren't telling me?"

"Maybe I just know you," she says, and he smiles.

"Apparently."

"Does your publisher know you're you?"

"Yeah. They're aware I'm not actually a non-threatening blonde. They offered to hire a model, but I told them I had someone in mind. They had me get a twitter a few years ago," he adds, feeling self-conscious. "Whenever anyone asked personal questions I just, uh--pretended I was you."

"Because if you pretended to be Octavia, you might have to tell Octavia about it someday."

He raises one shoulder. "Basically. There's, uh--" He clears his throat. "I'm signed with an online publisher that's trying to break into traditional markets, and I'm one of their flagship authors. So they want to increase my presence. The profile picture is the start, but they're hoping to get me to, uh--do things. Events. Signings. That's why they wanted to hire someone. But I thought you would be a better fit."

"They're really willing to hire an actress for this?"

He shrugs. "You have to spend money to make money."

"You know, if I found out my favorite progressive erotica author was a hot guy who was comfortable with his own sexuality and had just been saying he was a woman because he felt kind of awkward correcting people, I'd be _thrilled_. I think you'd be a more popular erotica author than I would."

"And I'd get fired from my real job," he shoots back, and she sobers.

"I forgot about that."

He rubs his face. "It's so fucking stupid. I'm not a bad teacher because I've written some porn. But I don't make enough money from that to quit my day job, and teachers don't get paid shit, so--"

"So you need to give me all the background," she says. "If I'm going to be you, I need to be convincing, right? I'm going to need to read all your books, check out your twitter, get a hold on your public persona."

"You want to read it?" he asks, feeling the blood drain from his face.

"If I'm going to do public appearances as you, I need to know I'm talking about. It would be awkward if I got asked about a book and didn't know anything about it."

It's a valid point, and possibly an argument in favor of getting a professional to do this instead. But he can't help feeling as if it would be _more_ awkward, trying to explain that to a stranger. Clarke figured out his entire backstory within seconds of hearing he did this. If he can trust anyone to accurately represent him, it's her. 

And it's not like he thinks she won't like his books. They're honestly probably right up her alley. She'll probably like them.

Suddenly, it's exciting.

"Okay, I'll send you the ebooks and a link to my author profile page. And if you've got a picture you want to use--"

She taps her jaw. "I'll wait until I check out your stuff. I want to get the right vibe. It needs to feel like--what's your pen name?"

"C. M. Blake," he says. She raises her eyebrows, and he flushes. "The C was just luck, honestly. Since I picked the name before I met you."

"How did you come up with it?"

"Charles Montgomery," he admits.

She cackles. "You picked named your romance novelist alter ego after _Mr. Burns_?"

"I was watching _The Simpsons_ ," he grumbles. "And I was twenty-three."

"Have you ever given an actual first name?"

"No. I just go by C. So--Clarke is fine, if you don't mind."

"You were twenty-three, so I would have been nineteen. If I'm playing my age."

"I think my profile still says twenty-something, so that should be fine. It might be up to thirty-something, but you can pass."

She nods. "Okay, so--Clarke Montgomery Blake. I can remember that."

He's not convinced this entire interaction would be easier before he realized he was in love with her, but that's a wrinkle he wishes he wasn't dealing with. It's one thing to have your best friend be familiar with your most intimate secrets; that's kind of the point of a best friend. You're supposed to be able to tell them anything.

But after the dissolution of her engagement to Lexa, followed by his own breakup with Gina a few months later, he'd realized that she'd been the most important person in his life for a long time, and that the way he felt for her had evolved far past anything that could be dismissed as simply _friendship_. He hasn't figured out what to do with it, but hearing her call herself _Clarke Blake_ doesn't really help. 

"Thank you," he says, in an attempt to get past the annoying, possessive feelings. He wouldn't _want_ her to take his name, even in the hypothetical world where they were somehow getting married. He doesn't want to own her. He just wants to date her. "I appreciate this."

"What are friends for?" she asks, and he has to laugh.

"I don't think this is covered in the usual friendship agreements."

"Somewhere in the fine print," she says, and smirks. "Send me that link. I can't _wait_ to get reading."

"Yeah," he echoes, trying not to think about it too hard. "Can't wait."

*

Bellamy's books are basically exactly what Clarke would have expected, which is both annoying and amazing. The first few are rockier, both in terms of subject and ideology, but once she gets into his recent work, it's like he was actually writing specifically for her. Sexuality crises always involve a consideration of bisexuality, whether or not the character eventually ends up deciding that label fits them, sex scenes focus on fun and consent, and the characters always try their best but aren't perfect. She'd known there was a new world of romance novels coming up in online publishing, something different from the bodice-rippers that she read as a kid, full of women who had to tame asshole men, but she hadn't ever known how to get into it.

Now she has an easy entry: C. M. Blake and her impressive body of work.

Over the last ten years, Bellamy has produced five novels and four novellas. There are two series, one focused on a group of college friends and the other on a group of siblings, and a then some standalones. The first few were fairly boilerplate, with male/female romances following the usual rom-com beats, just with sex, but as he gained confidence and popularity, he started branching out, including same-sex relationships and even a stand-alone novel about navigating polysexuality. From the beginning, he was good at racial diversity, no surprise there, and Clarke's not surprised to see some reviews about how he's pushing an SJW agenda and should just focus on writing good stories instead of standing on a soapbox, but there are far more comments from people who are happy to see themselves represented and appreciate the care he takes with delicate subjects.

All of which is great, and amazing, and Clarke's a little nervous about how much she's going to have to work on appropriately answering questions about this, given her own numerous privileges, but it's hard to actually think about, because in spite of her best efforts, her number-one takeaway from Bellamy's books is actually that they're _hot_.

Until she hit the first sex scene, she was actually kind of annoyed that he classified himself as an erotica author, because it seemed reductive. He was doing so much more than _just_ writing sex, and Clarke really does hate the way anything with explicit sexual content aimed at women gets dismissed as smut, as if it has no other value.

She still thinks that, of course. She still thinks he's writing engaging, progressive, _important_ things. She just also thinks that he is really, really great at the porn part. He's good enough it's not surprising that his publisher is trying to mainstream him, but his knack for the sex scenes is going to be a huge part of the draw. He has good characters, engaging plots, interesting and realistic conflicts, but he's mostly just--

If anyone knew this was him, he would be getting _so_ laid. It's kind of criminal that he can't use _have you read my hot feminist porn_ as a pickup line.

It's even more criminal that she now has to live with knowing this about him, has to think about her best friend--who was already way too attractive and charming and perfect--writing sex scenes that feel like they were plucked directly from her fantasies. 

And, of course, she has to talk to him about it.

He gives it two weeks, which, once Clarke thinks about it, is actually a really impressive show of restraint. If their situations were reversed and he was reading her books, she probably would have been texting him within a day, asking if he'd started reading yet and what he thought.

Bellamy waits until she comes over to hang out and watch him play video games and even makes it through a couple hours of _Breath of the Wild_ before he asks, "So, uh--did you read any of the books?"

She'd been trying to not stare at his hands, which has always been hard and is just getting more difficult, and the question startles her. "What?"

"The books I sent."

"Oh, yeah."

"And?"

The tension in his voice is obvious, and that makes it easier to respond. "They're amazing, Bellamy. You're really talented."

"Yeah?"

She nudges his shoulder. "Yeah, of course. The first couple weren't as interesting, but even those, your writing is great. And I loved the fantasy one you did last year. I think that was my favorite."

He ducks his head. "That was fun, yeah."

"Honestly, I feel kind of bad taking credit. You deserve to be recognized for this stuff."

"So you read my books and now you don't want to help me anymore? That's really not how I was hoping this would go."

"I'll do it. It just sucks that I have to."

"Again, I want to keep my job. I get the nice tweets and emails, it's not like I don't know people like me. They can just tell you about it instead of me."

She frowns. "Tell me when, exactly?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "I've got a new book coming out. It's the first one that's actually being printed, so they want me to do some signings. See if people actually want to meet me. Start small, before they start really selling--"

"Clarke Blake," she supplies.

"You don't have to do this," he tells her, like _she's_ the one who should be feeling weird about it. "They said they'd hire a stand-in."

"No, I'll do it. There was a lot of personal stuff in there," she can't help adding. "So I'll know how to talk about it?"

"You're going to explain how growing up as a poor biracial kid shaped your writing?" he asks, and she winces.

"No, you're right. But--I can still talk about you," she says, figuring it out as she speaks. "There's plenty of stuff in there that you got from me, and from Miller, and Lincoln, your sister--we're all in there. So I can just say I got that perspective from my--"

It's a strange, almost selfish impulse, because for all it makes sense, it's not _necessary_. It just feels so much easier than any of the other options. It makes sense. It's easy.

"Husband," she finishes, and Bellamy chokes.

"Sorry, what?"

"That would be easiest, right? I checked the twitter, you said you were married."

"Yeah," he admits, reluctant. "It seemed simpler than answering questions about my love life. Happily married is boring. I made up a basic relationship history--"

"And it works for us," she says. "Met in college, married a few years later, no kids. It explains why we have the same last name and why you come to my events with me. It makes total sense."

He opens his mouth, closes it, frowns. "Yeah, it does. I hadn't thought about that."

Clarke hadn't either, not really. She'd seen the references on his twitter to a husband, and she'd thought it was smart of him, for all the reasons he'd said. And now they can use it to their advantage.

"You can hang out with me at signings, hear how much people like you. Chime in when I fuck up. It'll be fun," he adds.

"You know this whole writing thing was supposed to be an easy side gig, right?" he grumbles, without heat. "I just wanted to write some books and make some quick cash. There wasn't supposed to be an elaborate fake life."

Clarke smiles, leans her head against his shoulder. He's warm and smells like soap, and it's not like she didn't want to climb into his lap and kiss him breathless before this started. But her fantasies have gotten a lot more _detailed_. At some point, it's going to be a problem.

For now, they're allies.

"It's tough being popular," she tells him.

"You're going to find out soon."

"Looking forward to it." She closes her eyes. "The books are really good. You should be proud."

"I am," he says, but his voice is thick. "Thanks."

*

"You're not going to tell me this is more trouble than it's worth?" Bellamy asks the phone, not actually sure what answer he's hoping for. It _does_ seem like an incredible amount of trouble, but hanging out with Clarke for an evening while she reads aloud from his _actual, physical book_ , signs some copies, and accepts compliments on his behalf sounds like basically the best thing ever. It's going to be over-eighteen only, so he shouldn't see any of his students, and if he does, he's not the author of the books, he's just there supporting his wife.

His _wife_. 

Clarke was right, it's a good plan, an easy way to explain who he is and why he's there, and it's not like they're going to be expected to make out in public or anything. It's not going to be a big deal at all, but he can't talk himself out of being excited about it. Clarke's going to call him her _husband_.

Assuming Harper thinks it's a good idea.

"This is honestly less trouble than I was expecting," she says, sounding pleased. "You figured out everything. You've got a cute blonde who works perfectly for our image--not that you wouldn't, if you wanted to come clean," she adds quickly, and Bellamy smiles. Harper is his second editor, and he likes her a lot. And he can't help finding it amusing when she tries to assure him that if he changes his mind about being the face of his own brand, she supports him, but that his fake blonde lady is cool too.

"Yeah, I know," he assures her. "Don't worry."

"Your friend works really well for how you've been presenting yourself, she knows you and the brand, and you even came up with a reason for the real you to be involved. If I didn't know better, I would assume you planned this."

"Who says I didn't?"

"Your total panic when I brought it up," she says, remorseless. "If you planned this, you wouldn't have been so freaked out. And you'd probably actually be married to her, instead of BSing that. What does she do again?"

"She's a freelance illustrator, so her schedule is pretty flexible."

"Seriously, _perfect_. This is going to be great for your brand. Assuming everything goes well with the signing, I'm going to start looking for events for you guys. You're going to be the public face of the company."

"Both of us?"

"Not you as much," she admits. "But I think you'll work well for the image. Who doesn't want their favorite romance writer to have a husband who looks like a leading man?"

"Thanks for thinking I'm hot, Harper," he teases. "Not weird at all."

"Any time. I've got the signing set up for next month, emailing you the details. Start promoting it on twitter, okay? I want a big crowd."

"That makes one of us," he mutters, but of course he shares it and promotes it and can't help being excited about it. If no one comes, he's going to be disappointed. But the tweets are getting likes, the Facebook event has people who say they're coming, and when he stalks his own pen name on twitter, he sees people who are excited about meeting their favorite author in person.

And he will be there with Clarke, so they _will_ get to meet him. They just won't know it.

He is a little worried about her, but just because she's so nervous. But that's kind of a plus, too, because she wants to hang out with him _a lot_ , to make sure she's ready, and he's never upset about more time spent with Clarke.

Well, not until she asks, "Okay, what was my inspiration?"

"What?"

"It's a new book, so I assume people are going to ask how I came up with the idea, what the inspiration was, that kind of thing. So, what was the inspiration for this book?"

It's not the first book he's written that is in some way inspired by Clarke--like she said, all his friends are inspirations, one way or another--but this is the first one new one he's written since realizing he's in love with her, and as such it feels like it's _about_ her.

"Well, the publisher wanted a new series, so I was going from that. My other series were pretty linear, like--first couple gets together, the the second couple, third couple. Which works out because then you get to check in on the couples you liked from the last book, find out that they're getting married or having kids or trying to adopt or whatever. But I wanted to try something different, so I thought it would be cool if all the stories in this series started at the same event, and it's important to every couple for a different reason, and comes at a different stage in their relationship."

It's his first time ever really talking about his work with someone, and it's hard not to feel self-conscious or pretentious. He doesn't really think of his novels as extended excuses for characters to hook up, but he knows that that is, in a sense, what they are, and talking about the art and artistry behind them is weird.

But Clarke is looking interested, curious, like the answer to this question matters to her as more than just something she's going to have to repeat to a bunch of strangers. Clarke seems to genuinely like his writing and find it interesting, and that's flattering.

He's also beyond glad _she's_ the one who's going to be answering these questions in front of a crowd. 

"So, all the stories in the series will start at the wedding?"

"Yeah, the same place, during the toasts. Which I guess might be kind of a spoiler? I don't think Harper cares. This one's the straightforward one. It's the, uh--" He doesn't let himself feel awkward about it. Or tries not to. "The main couple here meet at the wedding, so it makes total sense why that's where their story starts."

"Yeah, I like what you did with it," she says, and it doesn't _sound_ like she made the connection. Or if she did, she didn't think it was significant. They met at a wedding, as best man and bridesmaid, and they'd had a similarly rocky start to their relationship. But it's really not _that_ obviously them--for one thing, they didn't start hooking up before the ceremony--and even if she noticed the characters share their origin story, she could have just thought it was a coincidence, or the normal kind of inspiration. Not the _I'm definitely in love with you_ kind. "So, what else are you planning for the series?"

"You can't tell the audience that."

"I'm just curious."

"I want to do the bride's grandparents next," he admits. "Period piece, World War II. I haven't really done anything historical yet, so--"

"Oh, awesome. I really liked her grandparents. From what little we saw of them. Are you going to do the bride and groom too?"

"Yeah, uh--that's going to be the last one in the series. Finish it off with their backstory."

"I like that."

"Thanks for your approval," he says, but immediately folds. "Really. I'm glad you like it."

"Do I get priority access now?" she asks. "Like, can I see drafts before they're done? So I'm informed? Will you send me chapters when you finish them? Can I do cover art for you?"

He'd always assumed Clarke and the rest of his friends would be supportive, if he told them about his alter-ego as a writer. Miller would make fun of him, and Octavia too, but they'd be proud. He's been successful, and even if they'd never want to read it because it's, well, porn, he thought they'd think it was impressive.

It's weird that Clarke likes it so much, but not bad weird.

"Do you think I can afford you?" he asks, and she laughs.

"I'll cut you a deal. Art for new chapters."

"Good deal for me. You're already doing me a favor."

"I don't mind," she says. "Okay, so--what other questions are we going to get? Walk me through this."

He has to smile. "You're going to be fine, Clarke."

"I want to be great. So we're rehearsing."

Her feet are in his lap and she's smiling, so he'd do basically whatever she wanted to keep this happening. "Sounds good to me," he says. "Let's memorize inspirational things to say about writer's block."

She smiles, like she's never heard anything better. "Yeah, let's."

*

Clarke would say she's surprisingly nervous about the reading, but she's actually about as nervous as she expected to be. It's actually _more_ nerve-wracking than presenting her own work, because that's just her responsibility. If she fucks up, she's the one who suffers. But if she fucks this up, she fucks it up for _Bellamy_ , and that's the last thing she wants.

"You'll be fine," he says, apparently completely unconcerned. 

"What if I contradict one of the things you said about your process on twitter?"

"Say you changed your mind."

"You know you're better at public speaking than I am, right?"

"Yeah, so just try to do what I would do."

She exhales. "If I fuck up, remember this was your idea."

"I remember," he says. "Seriously, you'll be good. I'm just going to sit here being a supportive husband."

"Asshole," she says, and he just grins.

There's a pretty decent crowd, which makes it both better and worse. He hasn't filled every seat, but there are only a few empty spots. The audience is mostly women, with ages ranging from college student to grandmother. About twenty percent are guys, some clearly here with women but a couple on their own. But Bellamy is definitely the oldest non-employee guy in the room; apparently C. M. Blake's male fans age out around twenty-five. Or the older ones just aren't willing to be seen at a reading.

"All right," Moira, the employee in charge of the reading says, right at eight. "We're very excited to be hosting C. M. Blake's first ever public reading. She's been publishing with Arcadia press online for ten years, but this is her first physical release, part one of a new series, appropriately titled _Something New_. So please join me in welcoming for the first time, Clarke Blake!"

The applause is instantaneous and enthusiastic, and Clarke reminds herself it's for _Bellamy_. He's the one everyone's here to see. She's just speaking for him.

He gives her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze, and it's enough to get her to the podium. She's a fraud, but she's an official fraud. Like a body-double.

"Hi," she says, trying on something like a Bellamy smile. It's not going to work on her face, but she might as well try to get into character. "Thank you all so much for coming out tonight. I'm really excited to be here, reading my graphic sex scenes in public."

The line gets a good laugh, like Bellamy said it would, and she relaxes a little. It's a good crowd, and they know they like his stuff already. It's not a hard sell.

"Just kidding. I'm not going to read the sex scenes. You have to buy the book to get those. That's why I make the big bucks."

There's another round of laughter, the crowd warmed up and excited enough that she just dives right into the reading. She likes the new book as much as all the others, and it's nice to hear the crowd react, laughing at all the right parts and cheering when she's done.

And then it's the Q&A, which is what she's really been dreading. But Bellamy's on her side, so--it's going to be fine. No one's looking for some bizarre scandal. She's a normal author, talking about her work. And the questions really aren't anything unexpected. One person asks about how she went about getting published in the first place, and Clarke explains she was trying to make some extra cash in college and saw a call for submissions, just like Bellamy said he did. She talks about making the leap from online publishing to physical books, which was a publisher decision, and about how she (Bellamy) deals with writer's block. When someone asks if she has a day job, she says she's an illustrator, but that it's all technical drawings, nothing they'd know.

She isn't saying anything that isn't true, it's just that only parts of it are true for _her_.

"I'm always really impressed by how well you write men," one of the guys says. "A lot of the time I see romantic leads who are just kind of--fantasies. Your characters feel more like people I've met. Any tips for that?"

She and Bellamy hadn't discussed this one specifically, but it's of a kind with plenty of other things they talked about, so she leans forward, putting the pieces together.

"I try to write characters first," she says, slow. "I don't think, like--okay, what would a guy say in this situation, I wonder what my character would say. And that works about ninety percent of the time. If you understand your characters as people, then that's how they come across. The other ten percent of the time, when I'm doing something that feels outside of my experience, I consult an expert. So if I have some very specific questions about what it's like to have a penis, I ask my husband."

Bellamy chokes, and Clarke bites back on her grin. "Obviously, every individual experience is different, but google helps with that too. Get a few opinions. The information is out there. But, yeah, my best advice is to figure out who your character is first. You can think about how their gender might affect stuff like unconscious privilege or whatever, but--getting trapped in the mindset of writing groups instead of individuals is always going to end up with bad characterization."

The guy nods, apparently satisfied, and Clarke picks one of the women in the front for the next question, someone probably about her own age.

"Is that your husband?" she asks, eyes flicking to Bellamy.

"Yeah, that's my husband."

"Now I feel kind of weird asking my question," she admits, and Clarke smiles.

"Trust me, you're not going to weird him out. He's read all my books. This isn't his first time finding out what I write."

"I wanted to know how you got started writing this kind of stuff? And if you had any tips for writing, um--"

"Sex scenes?" she supplies.

"Yeah."

"Honestly, I got into writing erotica because I was in college and needed some cash. I saw a post about Arcadia soliciting new work, and I thought I could do it." She wets her lips, trying not to be too self-conscious. After all, there's nothing wrong with anything she's planning to _say_. It's all straightforward and easy.

It's just that it's Bellamy's feelings on writing sex scenes, and that's still _distracting_.

"When I started writing, I was trying to write stuff that I thought other people would be into, and it was fine, but once I got an editor, she told me I was being too clinical. I saw sex as something I had to put in my stories, so I'd just follow the steps. I had a formula, and I thought that was good. But my editor told me it was pretty obvious, so I should start thinking about sex as another step in the relationship. It's part of the development. If you're interested in sex," she adds. "I'm working on a novella with an asexual protagonist navigating a relationship and figuring out boundaries with their allosexual partner, so that's obviously a different thing. But if you're writing about two people who like sex, then what they do is a part of their relationship development. Kind of like the last question, go back to characters. What turns the characters on? What do they like? It's another personality trait." She worries her lip, but the girl is still watching, and Bellamy _did_ give her a lot to say. "If you're worried it's not hot, just--think about what you like. Even if you haven't had sex, there's probably something you're theoretically into. If you like what you're writing, chances are at least one other person will too."

It is good advice, and Clarke's only issue with it is honestly that if that's how Bellamy writes his sex scenes, she now has more information than is really good for her about what turns him on. Because his sex scenes aren't formulaic, not really, but they definitely have some recurring themes, and if they're anything to go by he's really into oral, fingering girls, and running his mouth while he does it. Which are all things Clarke is into generally and _really_ into Bellamy being into.

It's not a great thing to be thinking about during a public appearance, so she asks for the next question, which is the last, and then settles at the table next to Bellamy to sign books.

"Was that okay?" she asks, low, leaning in.

"Perfect, yeah." He hesitates for a second and kisses her hair. She's sure the whole line sees, but it _feels_ like a private moment. Just her and Bellamy in the whole world, for a second. "That was great, Clarke."

"Thanks."

The two of them spent an afternoon on C. M. Blake's autograph, but Clarke still finds this to be the weirdest part of the whole thing. Not bad, just if she's honest, she doesn't really get autographs. Meeting celebrities makes sense, and at least with authors there's a logical thing for them to sign, instead of just getting a picture, but Clarke doesn't need to commemorate things like that. The memory is enough for her.

But she does kind of get it, once people start coming up and talking to her, and she's gladder than ever that Bellamy is by her side. Not because she needs the support, this time, but because it means he hears what they have to say.

"I really appreciated having your books," one of the older women tells her. "I never went in for that sort of thing, but after my husband passed away, a friend said I should try it. And if not for you, I don't think I would have reacted as well when my daughter came out."

"My friend found your books online when we were in high school and she got them to, like--you know, it was sex, it was kind of funny," comes from a college student. "And it was, but I really liked the story, so I kept reading, and I felt a lot more prepared for like--dating and everything."

The last to get an autograph is the girl who asked the question about writing sex scenes, and Clarke can tell she's still embarrassed about it. So she asks, "You're interested in becoming a writer?"

"Yeah. I mean, I write now, but I don't really know about, you know, publishing. If I want to just self publish or try to find an agent, or--"

Clarke actually knows a decent amount about self-publishing from getting commissioned to do cover art, so she actually can talk about the pros and cons there, and she gets the girl's email address so she can pass along some places that take submissions. Which, okay, she doesn't actually know, but Bellamy should be able to provide.

The girl thanks her and leaves, hugging the book to her chest, and Clarke collapses onto Bellamy's side, giddy with success.

"They love you," she says. "Your porn totally is totally making a difference in people's lives."

"Apparently," he says. "Seriously, thank you so much for doing this. That was awesome."

"No notes for me?"

"Nope. That was perfect. You're really good at pretending to be me."

She smiles into his shoulder. "I had a lot of help."

"You're a natural." He clears his throat. "So, do you want to do this more often?"

She doesn't even have to think about it. "Yeah. Whenever you want."

*

"Okay," says Raven, once all their friends are assembled and pizza has been delivered. "Not to get all _I saw Goody Proctor with the devil_ or whatever, but we need to talk about this tweet."

Bellamy had assumed Raven brought everyone together for some kind of announcement, but he hadn't really thought it would be about twitter. And he _really_ hadn't expected her to pull up a picture of him and Clarke with the caption _okay but @cmblakewrites and her husband are SO CUTE???? i cant_

The tweet isn't unfamiliar, of course. He saw it in his notifications and liked it, because it _is_ cute, Clarke leaning against his side after an autograph session, her eyes closed as he looks down at her fondly. But is, admittedly, a very married picture and he might have saved it to his computer for that very reason.

But he has no idea how Raven found it.

Neither does Clarke, apparently, because she asks, "Do you have some sort of algorithm that searches twitter for our faces? How did you find this?"

"I don't think that's really the pertinent question," says Monty. "Like, there are so many others I want addressed first."

"My friend sent it to me. She recognized you as Finn's other girl in college."

Clarke makes a face, but it does, at least, make sense. And Raven's not stalking them, which makes him feel better.

Or, well, she _wasn't_ stalking them. She probably is now.

"It seems pretty self-explanatory to me," he says, shifting so he's not sitting _quite_ as close to Clarke. Not that he didn't sit near her all the time before, but he's definitely gotten freer with his affections since they started this whole thing. After all, she didn't seem to _mind_. Judging from her slightly hurt expression, she still doesn't mind, and he feels like an asshole. He stretches, to have another excuse for moving. "I've been writing erotica to get extra cash on the side and my publisher wanted me to start making public appearances, so I asked Clarke to do it. My readers assumed I was a woman and I went with it," he adds, when no one says anything.

Clarke clears her throat. "And at some point he decided his erotica-writing persona had a husband, so--"

All their friends are staring, and Bellamy can't really blame them. It is aggressively and undeniably weird. Not everyone can take these things with the grace Clarke did.

"When were you planning to share with the class?" Miller asks. He sounds curious, not offended, so that helps.

Bellamy glances at Clarke, and she's the one to say, "Soon."

It's not a lie; they've got a romance writers' convention coming up in a few weeks, which involves going out of town for the weekend, and they had been trying to figure out how much they were planning to share about the whole thing. Having told Clarke, he feels less weird telling everyone else. And it does help that it's working out. His new book is selling, has gotten some really positive reviews, and Arcadia is feeling good about the move to traditional publishing, at least for him.

Everything's honestly going kind of disconcertingly well.

"We've got a convention next month," he adds. "We were going to tell you when we took off."

"They let you go to the cons?" Miller asks.

"My publisher knows what's really going on," he says. "The con isn't paying extra, so we're not making as much as we could be, but they were covering Clarke's hotel anyway, so--" He lets that one die, because honestly he's still having trouble thinking about that part. They've got a king-sized bed and it's a really _nice_ hotel and there are definitely going to be some events where he'll have an excuse to touch her, so he's anticipating the best/worst weekend of his life. "It's not like it's weird for guests to bring their significant others to cons. And I'm on summer vacation anyway, so--"

"Plus that way he can give me notes if I screw anything up."

"You guys get that this is next-level weird, right?" Raven asks. "Like--seriously."

"Aren't you worried someone's going to figure it out?" asks Gina. He feels a little bad about Gina, because not telling friends about your weird hobby is one thing, but neglecting to mention it to a person you were once actually dating does kind of suck. 

"Yes and no," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "It would be awkward, but--I've got a pretty good reason. I think most people would be sympathetic to the fact that I've got a job that's not going to be thrilled about this hobby. And having Clarke pretend to be me is kind of shitty, but--"

"Romance readers would totally eat that up," says Monty. "Come on. You got your best friend to pretend to be you to save your job _and_ you're pretending to be married. It's so perfect."

That fact hasn't been lost on Bellamy. Assuming Clarke okays it, he's probably going to write this book someday. Assuming it has a happy ending.

"Yeah, I think we could spin it," Clarke says. "We're cute enough. And twitter likes Bellamy," she adds, nodding to the tweet Raven is still displaying.

"Wow, romance novel fans are happy their favorite author has a hot husband who clearly adores her?" Raven asks. "Who saw that coming?"

"Erotica, thanks," Bellamy says, mostly so he doesn't have to look at anyone.

"Romantic erotica," Clarke says. "I'd say they're both equally important in your work."

His face melts into a goofy grin. "Romantic erotica."

"Can we read it?" Monty asks.

"Why is that everyone's first question?" he grumbles, and Clarke knocks her shoulder against his. 

"Like you _wouldn't_ want to read our hypothetical erotica."

"Yeah, okay. And if anyone wants to try writing it, I've got an in, so--"

The conversation moves on, somehow, and they talk about what kinds of erotica everyone would be best at writing and then what else they could write, and by the time he's in Raven's kitchen getting another drink, his heart rate is finally returning to normal.

Until he hears Gina ask, "When did you have _time_?"

He jumps, turns to give her a sheepish smile. Gina was a great girlfriend, and he still feels guilty for not being a better boyfriend to her. In retrospect, being in love with Clarke was definitely a factor, and he wishes he'd noticed before the two of them started dating, to save everyone some heartache.

But she's with Raven now, and happy, so it worked out for her, at least.

"Mostly over summer vacation," he says. "These days. "When I started, I was just fitting it in whenever I could, but now I can usually finish a draft while school's out and all of you guys still have jobs to keep you busy during the day."

"I can't believe you kept it secret all this time."

"Yeah, honestly, neither can I." He sighs. "I should probably tell Octavia too. Before anyone else does."

"Probably. Do you like it?"

"Writing?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. I really like it." He lets himself smile a little. "I might actually be able to support myself off it, in a few years. If this goes well."

"That would be great. So I should buy all your books, right? And tell my friends."

"Unless that would be weird, yeah. But it's hard to feel weird about anything else, at this point. With everything else."

"Yeah." She bites her lip. "Does she know how you feel about her?"

If it was anyone else, he'd play dumb. But Gina deserves the truth. "No. Not as far as I know. I knew, uh--I knew if I ever needed someone to be my public face, she'd do it, so I answered questions like I was her. I probably should have figured out how I felt about her somewhere in there, but--" He rubs the back of his neck. "When we were together, I wasn't--"

She pecks him on the cheek. "I know. But you should think about maybe telling her _now_. Since you're already married and all."

He ducks his head, laughing. "Yeah. I guess now would be the time, huh?"

"I think the time was a while ago, honestly. But failing that, now will do."

"I'll see what I can do. Sorry I didn't tell you about--"

"Just send me the link for your books," she says. "And we'll call it even."

*

At this point, Clarke is pretty comfortable with the majority of her duties as fake Bellamy. She's done a decent number of local appearances, does well with the reading, and can answer questions well enough he even lets her man his twitter sometimes. There are still nerves, of course, but she's largely used to it.

The convention is still freaking her out, though.

"I'm on _panels_ , Bellamy."

"And?"

"With real authors."

"You're going to be fine," he says. He's driving, so he can't look at her, but his voice is serene. "Seriously, Clarke. You're better at talking about my books than I am, at this point."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"Which part?"

"You should be the one up there. I'm taking credit for your stories."

"I'm hoping I get to take credit one of these days," he admits. "It's going well enough I might be able to. But for now, no. I don't mind." He flashes her a quick grin. "You know I'm making money off this, right? It's helping me. And if I make enough money, it's like Monty said. It's a cute story. Harper thinks we could come clean and it wouldn't do any harm. Might even help."

"Do you really think you could live off this?" she asks.

"Honestly? Yeah."

"That's amazing," she says. "I'm really happy for you."

"Yeah, well, that's why it doesn't bother me. This is good for me. And I really appreciate it," he adds. "You're the one doing mostly free labor for me."

"We split appearance fees."

"But you're the one who has to do the actual work. All I have to do is sit around and look proud of you."

She worries her lip. "Yeah, um--about that."

Tension races up his shoulders. "About what?"

"Is that going to be weird? We have, like--events, right? Stuff where we're going to be seen together."

"We're seen together all the time. But yeah." It's kind of nice that he's mostly concentrating on the road; Clarke's not sure she could look at him for this conversation anyway. "Are you worried?"

"Not worried, just--wanted to check in. Do we need to do anything special?"

"Hang out, pretend we like each other?" he suggests. But she can see him biting the corner of his mouth. "People think we're dating all the time. I'm not really worried anyone's going to catch on."

"I don't know, this _is_ a romance novel convention," she can't help teasing. "If anyone should be on the lookout for fake marriages, it's this crowd."

He laughs. "Yeah, you're right. But my fans think we're adorable, so--"

"We _are_ adorable," Clarke says. "I don't know. It just feels more suspicious, I guess."

"Seriously, have you ever actually doubted that anyone who tells you they're dating someone is telling the truth? There's no set way to be in a relationship. We can just be ourselves. It's going to be fine."

She doesn't even think he's _wrong_ , really. She just has a lot on her mind, and it's easy to think of all the things that could go wrong for them. All the things _she_ could screw up.And even if Bellamy isn't worried about potentially ruining his writing career with the revelation of his real identity, she'd rather it didn't ruin his teaching career either. Not until he's ready.

And, of course, there's the other thing, which is spending an _entire weekend_ not only with Bellamy, but basically joined to him at the hip. He'll be at all her panels, and when she's not doing panels or autographs, they're going to check out the rest of the convention and the city together, and then they'll go back to their one hotel room with their one bed.

And, as a bonus, she'll probably be talking about his porn and kind of turned on the whole time. So, honestly, she's less worried about screwing up his secret identity and more worried about screwing up their entire relationship.

But aside from that, it's probably going to be fun.

They get checked in to their room and don't have anything to do for a few hours, which is nice. They can both decompress, stressed out next to each other on the bed, each on their own laptops, and it's definitely a large enough bed that they won't have to touch each other at all.

It's kind of disappointing, honestly. She doesn't even have an excuse. 

Their event that night is a dinner with some of the other guests, and it's surprisingly nice. The other authors are predominantly female, but the con put some effort into diversity, so it's a more varied group than she expected, and Bellamy can get pretty involved in the conversation without blowing his cover, just because he's (supposedly) her husband, and he's familiar with her work. Not that any of the other husbands are as involved as he is, but that's Bellamy: always an over-achiever.

"I can't wait for you to just be at these as yourself," she admits, once they're back at their room. "You'd be so good for them."

He laughs, squeezing her shoulder. She might have gotten drunker than he did; she _always_ gets drunker than he does.

"Good _for_ them?"

"Yeah. Based on that dinner, white girls writing romance novels are a dime a dozen. You've got a way more interesting voice than I do here."

"And everywhere else," he teases. 

She flops onto the bed. "I just want everyone in the world to know how amazing you are. Is that so much to ask?"

He laughs. "No, yeah, that's a totally realistic goal. Every single person in the world." She can hear him moving, lets one eye open so she can watch as he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off. He's still wearing an undershirt, but it's this tight, white tee, and his arms look _amazing_.

Drinking was maybe not a great idea.

He sits down next to her, fingers carding through her hair. "I'm looking forward to someday telling everyone the real story here. But this is good too. It's been, uh--it's been fun. Having you here. Letting you do all the hard work."

"I'd still come," she says, curling against his side. "If you wanted me to. One-woman cheering section. I'd be at every reading."

"I know." He moves his hand, and she whines at the loss, making him laugh. "I assume you don't want to go to sleep fully dressed and stretched diagonally across the entire bed. So you're going to want to get up."

" _Want_ is a strong word."

"I'm afraid if I go into the bathroom, you're going to pass out and never move again, so I'm going to make you get up now. Come on. You've got panels tomorrow. You need to get good sleep."

She groans. "You're really lucky I like you so much," she grumbles, but she does drag herself up.

"I know," he says, voice softer than she expected. But then he gives her a gentle push. "You're such a lightweight."

"I am not. I drank _a lot_. If you drank this much, you'd be passed out."

"Sorry. You're a fucking lush."

"Much better."

She's not actually _that_ drunk, just tired and still a little stressed out, nervous about this weekend and even _tonight_. Passing out stretched diagonally across half the bed wouldn't have actually been bad, honestly. It would have saved her some overthinking.

She brushes her teeth and washes her face, gets changed into her pajamas. She normally sleeps in nothing but a long t-shirt, but it felt weird doing that with Bellamy, so she's dressed in what she thinks of as her movie-sleepover ensemble, a camisole and pajama shorts.

It's a total coincidence that this is also a lot sexier than her ratty Yale t-shirt. She blames the male gaze in cinema. That's definitely on them.

Bellamy's wearing the same undershirt as before, but he's switched his slacks for pajama pants in her absence. If she can stay awake long enough, he'll probably emerge from the bathroom in his glasses, which she definitely _wants_ to see, but she'd rather not deal with navigating the entire bed positioning situation. He'll still be wearing glasses in the morning, and if she's asleep before he's in bed, she won't be overthinking how he positions himself relative to her or anything like that.

"Which side of the bed do you like?" she asks.

"Uh, don't care," he says. "As long as I have enough room to sleep, you can go wherever."

"So, not diagonally across the whole bed."

"At a minimum, yeah." He rubs the back of his neck. "You know, I can take the couch, if you want. It looks kind of okay."

The couch has two cushions, and even Bellamy, who's not a particularly tall guy, would be spilling off both ends of it.

"I'll take this side," she says, pulling back the covers. "The other one's all yours."

He smiles. "Cool. Did you set an alarm?"

"Eight a.m. Plenty of time to shower and eat before the con's even open."

"Great." He pauses, like he might say something else, but he settles on, "Goodnight, Clarke."

The bed is soft and warm and comfortable, and she makes sure to settle in with her back to where he'll be, to reduce the odds that she does something stupid, like trying to cuddle in a half-asleep haze.

Even if that sounds really nice.

"Goodnight," she echoes, already half asleep.

Definitely safer this way.

*

When the alarm goes off, Bellamy finds, to his disappointment, that he and Clarke have stayed on their respective sides of the bed and they seem to have not touched at all in the night.

Which is, of course, a good thing, at least on his end. He's glad he didn't spoon her or anything. But he wouldn't have objected if she were spooning him. If he were writing this story, they _definitely_ would have woken up cuddling, and he'd be hard, and she'd notice and rub against him, and in no time at all he'd have his hand between her legs and his dick pressing against her ass and--

She makes an irritated sound and rolls over to grab the phone, and he springs out of bed like he's on fire.

"I know you're not going to be conscious for another ten minutes, so I'm showering," he tells her, and gets a grunt in response.

He does try not to think about her when he gets off. It's a losing battle at the best times and impossible _now_ , when she's in the other room, wearing fucking tiny shorts and a tank top that exposes miles of skin, but he still puts in the effort, trying to clear his mind of everything.

The attempt lasts all of ten seconds, once he starts touching himself. His mind fills with her immediately, with thoughts of trading lazy kisses that turn more desperate as they go, thoughts of tugging off her top and getting his mouth on her breasts, her stomach, and then between her legs, eating her out until she's _begging_ him to fuck her.

It doesn't take long for him to come, at least, and then he can wash his hair and make sure there's no jizz left in the shower or anything before he gets out.

Overall, not the _best_ start to his day, but probably better than jumping his best friend.

He shaves and gets his contacts in, and by the time he's out of the bathroom, he feels like a normal human capable of interacting with other people, and not like an asshole who thinks about his best friend when he's jerking off.

"Bathroom's all yours," he tells Clarke, and she glances over her shoulder. Intellectually, he knows she's sleep-rumpled and kind of groggy and has definitely looked _better_ , in some objective sense, but as far as he's concerned, she's basically the most beautiful girl he's ever seen. Always.

"Thanks."

"Hangover?"

She makes a face. "I'm not twelve, Bellamy. It takes more than that to give me a hangover."

He snorts. "Sorry for checking in on you. Did you seriously get hangovers when you were twelve? Jesus."

"Shut up." She stretches, and he has to look away. "I'm good. Still nervous about the panels, but--"

"You're going to be great. After all, you're basically just saying what I told you to--"

She laughs. "You're right. _What would Bellamy do_? I'll be fine."

He lets himself sit next to her. He does want to tell her. He wants to tell her all the time now, feels as if the words are pushing at his lips when he looks at her, but he told himself he could wait until after this trip. The hotel is booked up, and the last thing he wants is to make her share a bed after she rejects him.

Obviously, if she _didn't_ reject him, that would be ideal, but he's got to think of the worst-case scenario too.

"You will be," he promises. "You're great at this."

"You'd be better."

"Yeah," he admits. "But you're the second best thing to the real author."

She smiles at him, and he smiles back, and he recognizes this moment too. This is when he could brush her hair out of her face, and she'd lean into it, and he'd let his hand trail down her face to cup her jaw, tilt her head up and kiss her.

He's maybe written too many romance novels.

"So, uh--breakfast?" he offers, to break the mood. "I assume you want to shower first."

"Yeah." He doesn't think he's imagining the reluctance in her voice. "I probably should." 

Although he'd never tell Clarke this, the conference _does_ bum him out a little. Not for the reasons she thinks, exactly; he doesn't mind not having to sign his own autographs or deal with people. It looks kind of exhausting, and he's amazed Clarke can actually put up with it. It's not like _she_ likes people either. 

That's probably part of why he still likes it so much, honestly. The fact that she's willing to put up with all this stuff for him makes him feel more than a little mushy inside.

But what annoys him is that because he's there as Clarke's husband, people seem to think he's really be interested in this stuff, outside of her. It's assumed that he's her plus-one, when really he's the one who's picking all the panels, the one who cares about the other guests and the new releases. This is in basically all ways _his_ thing, and it does bother him that people seem to think he doesn't belong here, or is just coming to humor his wife. 

So it's a relief when he's going to grab food during Clarke's autograph session and Echo Aster, an editor they met at the dinner the previous night, falls into step with him and greets him with a conversational, "So, you write the books."

Okay, it's the kind of relief that involves him nearly tripping over his own feet, but still. "What?"

"You're the writer, not Clarke."

They're in a fairly deserted area and no one is paying any attention to them, so he just shrugs one shoulder. "And?"

"I just wanted to check. I can always call a male writer."

He bristles. "How?"

"Better at writing blow jobs," she says, unrepentant. "You don't seem embarrassed about it."

"Who doesn't want to be good at writing blow jobs?"

Echo rolls her eyes. "I meant writing romance at all."

"No," he agrees. "Why would I be embarrassed?"

"If you're not embarrassed, why aren't you in there signing autographs?" 

"Oh, yeah, uh--I'm an elementary-school teacher. I don't want to get fired for my erotica habit."

"So you let your wife take the credit."

He doesn't choke on his laugh, but it's a very close thing. He _told_ Clarke that the marriage thing wasn't what they should be worried about, but it's still a little hilarious. Echo figured out the fake author, but totally missed the fake marriage. "I asked her if she'd be willing to help out, yeah. It's not her favorite thing, but--"

"It's good that you have her. I'm sure it helps your image."

"If I can ever survive off writing, I'll come clean," he says. "But yeah, for now my image seems to be doing fine." He raises his eyebrows at her. "Unless you're planning to tell on me."

"No. Just curious. I love your work," she adds, with a smile. "You're very talented. I hope to see you on a panel soon. The real you. And that you don't lose your job."

"Yeah, that makes two of us," he agrees. "Thanks."

She's the only one to guess--or at least the only one to confirm with him--and it puts him in a good mood for the rest of the day. Not that he really needed it, of course. The convention is fun, Clarke gets a lot of compliments that he knows are really for him, and they have a weird mixer thing for VIPs and industry insiders that gives him an excuse to have his arm around her the whole night.

At least, that's what he assumes, but when he goes to the bathroom, he comes back to find her looking distant, and when he steps in again, she murmurs, "You don't have to."

"Don't have to what?"

"You can socialize with people other than me."

"Or I can socialize with other people _and_ you."

"I doubt anyone here would tell on you."

"You want me to go tell people my secret identity?" he asks, frowning. "Are you drunk?"

"This is a good networking opportunity for you. You could be making connections, if you wanted."

"Or I could be hanging out with you. Seriously, why do you want me to go? I'm pretty sure people are more interested in socializing with you anyway."

She wets her lips. "Echo pointed out it wasn't that beneficial for _me_ to be making connections, and she's right. You could be getting good contacts, meeting people--" He can see her swallow. "I'm pretty sure if you wanted to get laid--"

"Jesus," he says. "I was gone for like five minutes, what _happened_?"

"Nothing."

"Clarke." 

She worries her lip. "I told her we weren't married, and she said--"

"Wait, why did you tell her that?" he asks, confused.

"I don't know why you didn't!"

People are starting to look their way, and Bellamy doesn't really want the attention. He honestly doesn't want to be here at all, at this point. Not with Clarke for some reason convinced that he wants to be off on his own, networking or flirting or--he doesn't even _know_.

"I really have no idea what you think I want to be doing with my time here," he says. "But I just want to hang out with you. So, uh--steal some booze and go back to the room?"

"Bellamy--"

"Seriously. That sounds so much better than this."

She bites her lip. "We have booze in the room. Steal snacks instead."

As they make their way back to the room, he feels almost giddy, weirdly excited. It's not like he's happy Clarke seems to be jealous, but--well, he wouldn't _mind_ if she was jealous. And he's more than happy to tell her he has no interest in getting laid.

Or at least, no interest in picking anyone up.

"Sorry," is her opening.

"Sorry?"

"We didn't have to leave."

"Yeah, I wanted to. What did Echo say? Did she--are you okay?"

"She didn't say anything bad. Just that she figured it out."

"Yeah. Apparently my blowjobs are too male-gazey or something."

Clarke smiles a little. "I think they're good."

"Thanks. I wasn't really worried." He nudges her arm. "What else?"

"I guess I just assumed she figured out _everything_ , so I told her I was doing you a favor, and then she pointed out that if you were single, you could be getting really laid. Which is true," she adds, and he has to smile.

"Weirdly, I didn't come to this because I wanted to get laid. And I'm the one making all this complicated for myself, jesus. You're just doing what I asked you to do."

"It was my idea to say we were married."

"It was my idea to say C. M. Blake was married, so you got that one from me." He takes a step closer, heart pounding against his chest. All the reasons he had to not say anything seem far away now, because Clarke is watching him, a little flushed, and it's not like he _doesn't_ want to get laid. "I didn't correct her because I don't fucking care, Clarke. There's exactly one person at this thing I have any interest in sleeping with, and I'm already sleeping with her."

For a second, she just stares, and then she laughs. "That's your line? Come on, I thought you were a writer."

"Sorry, did you want a big speech?" He leans in, brushing his nose against hers. "Because I always thought those were kind of cheesy. My editor makes me write them."

"I guess it depends on the speech."

He really is trying to come up with something good, but Clarke's arms wind around his neck, fingers toying with his hair, and every thought drops out of his head except one: she wants him too.

Her eyes flutter closed as he leans in, and the kiss is warm and slow and perfect, everything he's been wanting, like something out of a goddamn _fairy tale_.

Well, for about five seconds. Then Clarke's fingers tighten in his hair and she groans, and the story takes a sharp left back to erotica. The kiss turns wet and dirty, and he lifts her up, getting her settled on the desk so she can wrap her legs around him. He slides his hand under her dress while she untucks his shirt, her fingers flying up to undo the buttons.

"I love you," he murmurs, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and casting it aside. "Just so we're clear."

"That's the speech I was looking for, yeah." She wets her lips, looking him up and down. "Is the other stuff in your books true?"

"What other stuff?"

"You write the sex scenes you're into."

He laughs. "That's your question?"

"I've been having to talk about your stupid erotica for _months_ ," she grumbles. "All I can think about is if you're really this into eating girls out, or if you just think your audience likes it."

He kisses her shoulder. "Fuck, is it that obvious?"

"I hope it is, yeah," she says, and he smirks.

"Only one way to find out."

*

"You know, I'm kind of worried I've set unrealistic expectations here," Bellamy murmurs, which is annoying only because he's _between her legs_ , his eyes dark as he looks up at her. All he should be doing right now is going down on her, and instead he's _talking_.

"Bellamy," she says, and it's more of a whine than she wants it to be.

He presses his lips against her thigh, making her squirm. "I'm just saying, I know I write some good sex, the real thing might be a let down."

"I don't care if it's a let down, if you don't start doing something soon I swear to god--" she starts, and he grins and pushes her legs farther apart, leans in to press his mouth against her clit. His fingers come up to rub against her, not sliding in yet, just getting slick with her arousal, and her eyes slide shut as sensation takes over. His mouth is so fucking _hot_ as he starts to suck her, his fingers thick and perfect as he pushes them inside her. The teasing part of the evening is apparently over, because he's not fooling around anymore, interested in nothing but getting her off hot and fast.

"Bellamy," she gasps. "Bellamy, fuck, _please_."

To her surprise, he pulls back to grin at her. "You don't have to talk. It's hard to write sex scenes without dialogue, so--"

She pushes him back down, groaning. "That was the opposite of _stop_. Please," she adds, again, and he laughs and swirls his tongue at her clit again, making her hips buck.

She's been on edge for what feels like _forever_ , so it doesn't take long for her to come the first time. She pulls him up for a messy kiss as she does, overwhelmed by the feeling of his mouth on her too-sensitive clit, and he comes willingly, grinning into it, but he doesn't pull his fingers out, just slows them a little until the orgasm passes, and then he's stroking her again, coaxing the next one out of her long and slow.

"Am I living up to expectations?" he murmurs into her neck.

"Oral and fingering," she says, with a breathless laugh. "You're on brand, yeah." She pulls him up to kiss him again. "I couldn't really tell what _you_ like. You want me to blow you?"

"Only if you don't want me to fuck you." He kisses under her ear. "I want to feel you come apart for me, Clarke."

She shudders, another wave of heat racing through her despite the two orgasms, and she pulls his mouth back to hers. "Did you bring condoms?"

"Yeah." His smile is wry. "I, uh--I was trying to wait, but I figured I might not make it."

"Wait?"

"I was going to tell you after. When we didn't have to share a bed if you weren't interested."

She smiles. "You're cute. Get the condoms."

He rolls off her and goes to his bag, and Clarke watches shamelessly as he pushes his boxers off, giving her a perfect view of his ass and an even better one of his dick when he turns back to her.

She could already feel it, of course, pressing against her leg while he got her off, but the sight of it is even better, thick and hard and perfect, and it's no shock that he catches her staring, but she doesn't expect the flush that starts at his chest and climbs up.

"Its rude to stare," he says, mild.

"It's good staring. Do you know how long I've been waiting to see this?"

He laughs, flopping down next to her. "I actually have no idea. I assume it was sometime after you and Lexa broke up, but I have no idea what the timeline was."

"Yeah, it was kind of a process. You were one of the factors she gave in the breakup."

He wraps his arm around her, and she curls into his side. It feels a little weird to just talk when they're both naked and he's hard, but it's kind of nice, too. They can take a quick break for emotions. It's not like she can't get his erection back, if anything happens to it. 

"Really?" he asks.

"Not--she didn't think anything was going on, or that I knew about it. But you know Lexa. She never liked losing, and I guess something about you made her feel second best. And I got that. You're--" She buries her face against his shoulder, embarrassed for no good reason. He's already told her he loves her, already gotten her off twice with plans to do it more. He's clearly and unambiguously happy about this. But it's still embarrassing. "You've always kind of been in another world from everyone else. And then you and Gina broke up and I was pissed. Not--she _broke up with you_ ," she says, and he laughs.

"I was spending a lot of time worrying about you," he teases, kissing her again. "And it was mostly mutual, when we broke up."

"Still. I spent a while ranting to Raven about how you were amazing and Gina was missing out, and Raven told me I was in love with you and picked up your ex-girlfriend on the rebound."

"Yeah, she definitely won that breakup. How pissed was she you didn't tell her about the fake-husband thing?"

"Not as much as I expected," she admits. "I guess she got that it was more your secret than mine, so she understood that I couldn't just tell her. And I was still kind of trying to deny it, even when you asked me to help out with this. But once we were doing this, it was kind of impossible to ignore."

"Glad I could help out."

He kisses her hair, and it's nice and all, but not really what she's looking for right now. She trails her hand down his stomach, straying toward his dick, only half-hard now. "Weren't we going to have sex?"

"Sorry I wanted to hear how much you like me instead." He rolls onto his side, propping himself up for a long, wet kiss, and she lets her fingers wrap around his dick at last, getting a feel for him. "So, did you read my porn enough that you can guess my favorite position, or--"

"Based on your porn, it's up against a wall, but that's not really my thing."

He laughs. "Yeah, that's uh--hot to think about, but I always have trouble getting a good rhythm going when I actually try it." 

"So what is your favorite position?"

"I don't know about _favorite_ , but I really like thinking about you on top of me."

She grins, pushes him back onto his back and just watches him for a second, his unsteady grin and the tangle of hair on the pillow.

"I love you," she says, and grabs the condom, slides it on, and climbs on top of him.

It's a position she can't really do by herself, so it's been a while. The dimensions of his actual dick are different from any of her toys, and she gives herself a second to adjust, leaning in to kiss him until she's ready to start rolling her hips, and then that's it. Bellamy's hands come up to steady her as he meets her thrust for thrust, and she buries her face against his neck as she gets closer and closer.

She's too busy coming herself to actually know when his orgasm starts, but she feels the last thrusts of it as she recovers, and she presses kisses from his shoulder to his jaw, catching his mouth again once he stops gasping. They're both too breathless to keep it up for long, but they still stay there, close and safe, until she finally feels like she has enough control of her body and slides off him.

Bellamy gets the condom off and tied, but he doesn't bother figuring out where the trash is, just gets it onto the bedside table and curls back around her.

"So, was it everything you thought it would be?" he asks.

"Yeah," she says, pressing a kiss over his heart. "It was just like I was hoping it would be."

*

For the first time ever, Bellamy thinks he's more nervous than Clarke about an appearance.

Of course, for the first time ever, he's the one who's actually appearing. 

"How is this not stressing _you_ out?" he grumbles, and Clarke pats his shoulder.

"Why would I be stressed? Everyone you've asked thinks this is a good idea. You took a _poll_ , and it was unanimous. It's the best publicity stunt ever. It's going to go well. And I can finally stop taking credit for all your hard work."

"That was still _my idea_ ," he grumbles.

"Maybe I'm just excited to not spend my evening signing autographs," she says, still smiling. "That was really tough on my wrists. I'm an artist, Bellamy. I depend on my wrists."

"Uh huh."

"Seriously, I can't wait for the whole world to be really jealous of the fact that I'm actually married to you."

"So you were just staking your claim before I made it big? That's why you married me?"

She pecks him on the jaw. "Sorry, you didn't think I loved you or anything, right?"

"Definitely not. Don't worry."

"Good. Seriously, though. I'm really happy for you. I'm going to go to all your conventions and listen to you talk for once and say smart things and--"

He kisses her this time. "Okay, yeah, I get it. You're excited about this. I'm still terrified."

"I know. I think you're going to be fine."

He doesn't have a chance to argue the point; they're getting announced, and he's following Clarke up to the podium.

He spent a while talking the whole thing over with Harper and the other editors, trying to figure out the best way to approach the reveal. In the end, they settled on the release for his new book which itself is, after all, about half confession anyway. His first press appearance is at the same bookstore where Clarke made her debut three years ago, and it feels appropriate. They're filming it to put on the website with an official statement, and then the book will be available for purchase, and it covers some, if not all, of the same ground anyway.

It really was too good an idea to pass up on.

Clarke goes up to the microphone first, smiles at the crowd. "So, I'm about to spoil this book for you. Because I'm not actually going to do the reading today. I first spoke here three years ago, because my best friend couldn't read his own books back then. But now he can, so--this is Bellamy Blake. He's the one who wrote every one of C.M Blake's books, and he's the one who gave me all the advice I've ever given you about writing. And he's going to tell you the rest of the story."

He also feels like he might throw up, but somehow he doesn't. He takes a deep breath, goes to the podium, and tries a smile. The sea of faces looks confused, a little unsure, so he lets all his own anxiety show through too. Fair's fair.

"Yeah, I know. I don't know what to tell you either. I'm, uh--yeah. C. M. Blake. I started writing to put my little sister through college, and I liked doing it, so I kept going. It was supposed to just be a hobby. I wasn't ever planning to have a social media presence, and by the time I needed one, everyone already thought I was, uh--a woman. And I was about to start teaching elementary school when that happened, so I didn't want to come clean and be myself, so I just went with this online persona. And when I needed a real persona, I asked Clarke to do it for me. But, like she said, I recently resigned from teaching to work on writing full-time, so--sorry for having Clarke cover for me all these years. I wanted to tell you the truth, but I also wanted to keep my job, and I couldn't do both." He clears his throat, not sure what else to say. "So, uh--any questions before I start reading, I guess?"

To his surprise and delight, someone raises her hand almost at once.

"Yeah?"

"Which part of that is a spoiler for the new book?"

He laughs. "Uh, the part where Clarke and I weren't married _before_ she started pretending to be me. That happened last year. So if you ever wanted a how-to guide for getting someone to marry you, this works as long as you can get a successful career writing romance novels going and construct an entire online alter ego. It's a lot of steps. I don't recommend it."

"So it's autobiographical?"

"It's a dramatization, it's not my actual life. But--yeah, it's very heavily inspired by real events. A lot more than usual." He clears his throat. "So, you guys want me to read some of that?"

The excerpt itself is well received, and he has to admit he prefers doing the reading himself, instead of Clarke doing it. He can't see as much of the crowd reaction, but he likes getting to put his own spin on it. For all he liked Clarke's interpretations, sometimes she did get it wrong.

The Q&A comes next, and it's not bad either. Most of his questions are about him, not the book, but that's no surprise. He's assuming he'll get some angry emails and tweets once anonymity is an option, but in-person, everyone is fairly respectful and understanding. He gets some questions about teaching, and even some of the usual ones about his process and how to deal with writer's block. People want to know how he really got started and what it was like _not_ being himself, but the answers are all easy, and it's nice to have everything out in the open.

Clarke nudges his shoulder once they're seated for autographs. "You did great."

"Thanks. You made it sound a lot harder than it was."

"I was lying the whole time," she reminds him, smiling. "Besides, this is the bad part."

"Yeah?"

"Your hand's going to hurt so much." She jerks her chin to the crowd. "They're waiting."

He smiles at the first girl, a pretty twenty-something who's looking a little shy. "Hi."

"Hi. I was actually wondering if I could actually get both of you to sign it?"

Clarke startles. "Me too?"

"You signed my all other ones, so--"

"We can compare and contrast how we do the signature," she teases, but her expression turns serious when she looks at the fan. "I'm sorry about the--is forgeries the right word? Whatever you call it. I think the publisher is offering to replace the ones I did, if you send them back."

She shrugs. "I don't mind. It's kind of funny."

"Yeah, that's what we were banking on," Bellamy tells her. He accepts the book and signs it, passes it to Clarke so she can do the same. Her own signature is more fluid than his, since she's got a lot more practice, and after a second's consideration, she adds the number two after it and hands it back to the girl.

"Aren't you number one?" the girl asks. "You were the first one who actually signed."

"Nope," she says, and Bellamy's blushing just from the fond tone of her voice, even before she adds, "Bellamy's definitely number one."

"Glad you're still finding ways to say nice things about me," he grumbles, once the girl has gone.

She kisses his shoulder. "Always. Ready for the next one?"

He can't help a goofy smile, but he mostly clears it before he waves the next person over. "Yeah. I've got this."


End file.
